


Take it logically

by josephides



Category: Alpha and Omega - Patricia Briggs
Genre: Bran is emotionally challenged, F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:14:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27801352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/josephides/pseuds/josephides
Summary: To have him profess feelings for her at this stage was, in her words, ‘nice to know, Bran, thank you. I’m glad that I’m not utterly unlovable’. Ultimately she had seemed underwhelmed. It had genuinely appeared that he had just added something more for her to be depressed about and he frequently caught her staring off into the distance, lost in frowning thought.
Relationships: Bran Cornick/Leah Cornick
Comments: 10
Kudos: 161





	Take it logically

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually hugely fluffy.

“So, funny story,” Anna said brightly when Bran called her back.

“Oh?”

“We’re not 100% sure we know where Leah is.”

Bran, who had been halfway through a breakfast Panini he’d bought at a Starbucks at the airport, paused in chewing. “Oh?” he said again.

“Has she said something to you?”

“No,” Bran replied, finishing his snack in one more bite and wiping his fingers on the paper napkin. He’d actually just been thinking it was unusual to not have heard from her and wondering if he could attribute this to their new ‘situation’. “When did you last see her?”

“Yesterday morning, Tag saw her go for her run. He, ah, thinks.”

“He thinks,” he repeated.

“Well. It could have been the day before that? She runs every day on the same route so he said its sometimes hard to know. Obviously, she’s okay,” Anna clarified quickly, as if Bran was concerned. If Leah had been hurt, they would all have known that. “I don’t suppose you can tell where she is?”

“No,” Bran said, which was truthful and also not. Though knowing her location was the only aspect of their mating bond that he allowed, he was currently on the other side of the world and he would struggle to pinpoint her without putting effort into it. And then she would know he was looking. “Earlier you said you weren’t 100%. Does that mean you have an idea?”

“Well. Her car’s still here but Carl said he saw Nick’s Taxis came up the other night. I called them and said Leah wanted to book a return journey for tomorrow night and Shannon said ‘sure, from the airport?’ so we think she might have flown somewhere.”

“Certainly sounds like it.” Bran sighed. “Are you in the house?”

“Yes.”

“Could you go up to her bedroom, please.” Bran waited patiently as she did so. When he heard Leah’s door open, he said, “Go to the closet on the left.”

“Wow,” Anna said as she entered the plush walk-in that was Leah’s closet. “This is amazing. Like something out of a movie.”

Bran said nothing. His mate’s ability to spend their money on herself was truly profound. That she had an entire room dedicated to the results was not something he could approve of. “On the right hand side, underneath the six rows of designer bags, is there a leather backpack?”

“No,” Anna replied.

“All right,” Bran said. One mystery solved. “That bag has her Lea Carmichael passport, ID and some credit cards in that name, if Charles would like to use that information to track her down.”

“Okay,” his daughter-in-law said slowly. “So is this a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Either or neither,” Bran replied, going to stand in front of the departures board. His gate had been announced. “It means that she has definitely flown somewhere whilst she knew I was going to be away and that she decided to do it without letting anyone know either means she didn’t want us to, or she is simply being dramatic.” 

“She… told me that she was going to be out a lot this weekend. That I needn’t drop by,” Anna said slowly. “And mostly the pack doesn’t visit when she’s home alone.”

Bran felt a small pang, quickly dismissed. “So, she didn’t want anyone to know.”

“I guess not. I only came because. Well.”

Anna had a kind heart. Even for his difficult mate who did everything in her power to alienate her.

“I was right to call?” she asked, quietly.

“Yes, of course.” It was remarkably irresponsible for Leah to ‘disappear’ without telling anyone. Bran was annoyed. “Get Charles to find out as much as he can. I presume,” he paused to get his passport out from his bag, “that you have tried her cell?”

“She left it in the house. That’s part of why it was so weird.”

“There’s a burner in that bag. I have the number somewhere. I’ll call her when I land in Barcelona. Have Charles message me with any details,” he instructed.

*

Bran did not spend much of the short flight from London to Barcelona pondering this odd behavior from his mate. Mostly he spent it watching the werewolf he was tracking across Europe, seated in business class with his laptop in front of him, tapping away.

They landed and Bran followed him through to customs, watched him get picked up by the W Hotel’s chauffeur service. Destination taken care of, Bran went to get in line for a taxi, scrolling through his cell phone. There were four numbers for Leah – her normal cell phone and three others that they occasionally used. He tried each one until finally she picked up.

“Hello,” she said.

Bran opened his mouth to casually ask her where the hell she was and paused when he identified the background noise he could hear. “Is that gun fire?”

“Mmm,” his mate said, very vaguely. “But it’s nothing to worry about.”

“I see,” Bran said, as if he did. “And where are you?”

“Syracuse. Oh, I have to go,” she said as someone called her name, urgently, then she hung up.

Bran stared at his phone just as he reached the front of the line and was asked in stilted English if he needed a taxi. Abruptly, Bran focused and nodded and was sent to his taxi. He gave the driver the instruction to take him to the W Hotel. In the car, he tried calling her again but this time the phone was turned off. “Call me back immediately,” he told her voicemail abruptly. He then sent a similar text message.

Then he put his cell away and allowed himself to enjoy a city he had not visited in three hundred years.

*

Charles called him that evening as Bran was observing the werewolf in the rooftop bar at the top of the W Hotel. It was past ten and the music was loud, the light was alternating between blue and purple, and the women that were around were wearing very little. If he wasn’t mistaken, the two currently entertaining his quarry were escorts. Human ones. He had to admit he didn’t appear to be very interested.

Bran sipped his beer and answered his son. “Charles,” he said.

“I spoke to Kwame and he hasn’t the faintest idea why Leah would be in Syracuse. He also hasn’t seen her, nor did she let him know she would be coming.”

If true, this was rude of his mate – but not unlikely. Leah was of the opinion that as the Marrok’s wife she had the right to go anywhere in his territory without bothering to inform the local Alpha. Leah believed deeply in the privileges of rank, had done since Bran had put a gold ring on her finger that declared her his wife. Bran thought manners went a long way in building relationships. It was an area they had agreed to disagree on. “I see. And the gun fire?”

“Gun club, was his best guess. There was certainly nothing on the police scanners last night. He’s going to check them out today. The pack does own one,” Charles added, hesitantly.

“Seems a likely place to start.”

“But he said his mate manages it and since she’s divorcing him the, ah, boundaries are a little blurred at the moment.”

Bran paused in lifting his beer to his mouth again. “Kwame’s mate is divorcing him?”

“Yes,” Charles said. “She has formally applied to me to dissolve their mating bond. It’s quite recent.”

Bran put his beer down. “I… see.”

It was rare for mated couples to voluntarily ‘break-up’. A mating wasn’t an emotional connection; it was magical. It was security. It was strength. If the human halves involved didn’t feel a romantic connection – or they did and then it dwindled – alternative arrangements could be made with the wolf’s agreement. Unhealthy as it had been, Leo’s and Isabelle’s relationship had been an example of that. If the alternatives didn’t work, then a witch – or someone like Charles – could dissolve the mating bond for them. Bran could, as well. He just refused to.

His son, never one to willingly discuss his father’s marriage, took a long time to frame his next question. “I take it… everything is all right between you?”

Bran glanced to his right, out into the inky darkness of the Mediterranean. “Not in the least,” he replied, honestly.

*

It had long been a question of ‘when’ not ‘if’ Leah would leave him. They were currently going through what could be considered a very, very long bad patch which had started in the early 80s with the arrival of a coyote walker baby and culminated in Bran all-but accusing Leah of betraying their pack after two hundred years of stalwart loyalty.

Bran had been aware when he returned home from Spokane that this might be the straw that broke the camel’s back. He had been surprised at Leah’s easy forgiveness, her welcoming him into her bed. Surprised and relieved, of course. _Lord_ , he had been so relieved. Not just that it hadn’t been her – _of course, it hadn’t been her –_ who had betrayed them. He had been relieved because it hadn’t just been the wolf he had been fighting in the hotel in Spokane. It had been himself. Every irrational, emotional cell in Bran’s human body wanted to defend his mate, his wife. Couldn’t bear the thought of being in the world without her.

It was an unpleasantly familiar sensation.

But it was, in Leah’s opinion, too little and too late. To have him profess _feelings_ for her at this stage was, in her words, ‘nice to know, Bran, thank you. I’m glad that I’m not utterly unlovable’. Ultimately she had seemed underwhelmed. It had genuinely appeared that he had just added something more for her to be depressed about and he frequently caught her staring off into the distance, lost in frowning thought.

These last few months, Bran knew he had been behaving as if he was a desperate man. He had been conciliatory and careful of his wife, making sure to think of her first in decisions he made. Even this trip to Europe had he had planned with her agreement, laying out the rationale so she could see that it was necessary. At one point, he had suggested she might come with him.

Leah had scoffed, deliberately misunderstanding him. “Don’t be ridiculous, Bran, you know as well as I that if one of us is going to stalk someone through a city, it will be you. _I_ can’t disappear.”

So he had left that. Now, of course, he was wondering if she had seen the trip as an opportunity to escape.

Bran called her four more times and then he had Charles send him Melissa’s phone number – so he could call her as well. Like his mate, she didn’t answer her cell phone. A wise precaution. She was under his aegis and would have had to take his command.

Then, when the distance between them and the frustration became too much, he spoke to her. _Leah, call me_. It was a last resort. Leah loathed this exhibition of his power. Or, more precisely, loathed that he could do it and she could not return it.

At 3am, she finally rang him, no doubt assuming he would be asleep.

Bran answered on the second ring.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The wolf within was screaming at him to say something. To exert his will and order her not to leave him. To demand that she go home. He was making Bran angry, which was fatal.

Leah sighed and capitulated first. “How’s your prey? Has he met with Diez yet?”

He struggled to parse her words, given they were not the subject he most – and least – wanted to talk about. “He had coffee with his second, Arturo.”

“How civilized.”

Bran agreed. It was certainly not the way Chastel went about annexing his packs. Nor the way Bran had, come to think of it. But it had been a different time.

“You’re in Syracuse,” he said, forcing the topic.

His mate breathed quietly for a beat. “Melissa is a friend of mine.”

He sat up on the edge of the bed, leaned his elbow on his thigh so he could rest his cheek. “I remember.”

“Sometimes it’s nice to talk to a friend.”

About him, he filled in. Leah didn’t feel she could talk to their pack-mates in Aspen Creek and certainly not about their marriage. And Melissa had taken the leap to end her marriage to Kwame. _And, and, and,_ Bran thought. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Just talk?” he asked, cradling a small kernel of hope.

“Well, I haven’t left you for her, if that’s what you’re asking,” his mate said drily.

Bran laughed without any humor. His mind was made of many tunnels. One was currently spiraling off in a new direction with the idea that she might leave him _for_ someone else. This was a new thought. He had imagined that she would have to leave, if their mating bond was dissolved. She would not be able to stay in their, _his_ , pack. For everyone’s sanity, she would have to leave Aspen Creek.

But the idea of another man was… challenging.

Very quietly, Bran lay down on the floor. He did his best thinking on the floor, looking up at the expanse of the ceiling. “Will you be coming home soon,” he said. He couldn’t make it a question.

Leah blew out a breath. “I really didn’t know it would cause this much fuss. It was a spur of the moment decision to visit. I honestly didn’t think anyone would notice.”

She hadn’t answered his not-question which meant he had to force the issue. “Leah, will you come home soon?”

“You’re not back until Thursday,” she reminded him.

He wanted to say he would prefer it if she was in their house whilst he was in Europe. He wanted know there would be a definitive date and time when she would be back in Aspen Creek. _Why wouldn’t she say ‘yes’._

“Please,” he said, finally, perilously close to begging now.

“ _Yes_. I am coming home. I am booked on a flight back Wednesday.”

The clenching hand around his internal organs eased. For this moment, he could breathe properly again.

*

Bran cut his trip short by removing all subtlety from the proceedings and joining Emir Atalar at his table in the little piazza where he seemed to take his coffee every morning.

“I think you—” Atalar stopped talking, his brown eyes dilating slightly as Bran unleashed everything within himself that he usually kept quiet. Atalar was a dominant, powerful wolf who had preserved himself and his packs on the Europe-Asia border from Chastel’s reach for nearly three centuries. They had never met but he still knew who he was. “Marrok.”

“Yes.” Bran picked up a bread roll from the basket in the middle of the table, broke it in half. He ate a piece. “I don’t have much time. Are you going to be a problem for me?”

Recovering himself, Atalar picked up his espresso and took a sip. “I sincerely hope not.”

“But you are intending to annex the European packs.”

Dark eyebrows rose. “I’m thinking about it.”

Bran rapped his knuckles on the table with finality. “Good. I wish you luck,” he said, rising to stand, brushing crumbs from his fingers. He had not done what he came here to do. He had wanted to observe more, make a judgement on this man’s character. Then he wanted to see where Atalar went next – France, perhaps. Italy. See what the vampire made of him. He knew he had already been to see Libor. The bitter old man had crowed to Bran about it over the phone. _Young, full of modern ways – he’ll shake up Europe and come for you, no doubt about it._

Bran didn’t care about that. North America was his. No one would take that from him unless he wanted them to.

Atalar was nonplussed. “Luck?”

“Jean Chastel kept this region under his thumb through fear, threat of execution and illicit business practices that funded his lifestyle. As far as I can see, you manage the packs in Turkey, Greece and Bulgaria by a combination of fear, tradition and bribery. The first two I can see working well in Europe. The latter requires more funds than I believe you have.” He shrugged. “So, luck. Let me know if you need a loan.” He smiled. “My son has very good interest rates.”

Bran picked up his bag. He had booked a flight home earlier than planned. He had wanted to be home when Leah returned.

“Wait. Please,” Atalar added quickly, lest Bran take offense at the implied order. He gestured to the seat again with an elegant, long-fingered hand. He wore a wedding ring, though Bran had not heard of a mate or even a wife. “Won’t you stay? Break your fast with me?”

“Thank you, but no. My flight leaves soon.”

Atalar tilted his head to the side. “Forgive me but you look like a man facing a problem. A woman, perhaps?”

He was either remarkably prescient or Bran’s marital woes were the subject of gossip in Europe. Unfortunately, it was likely the latter. He gave Atalar the benefit of a dry acknowledgement. “A look that is universal, I imagine.”

The wolf, the man who wanted to be Bran’s equal in Europe, smiled, fingers twisting the ring on his hand. “Perhaps,” he said softly. “I wish you luck, Marrok.”

Bran would need it.

*

The problem was Bran no longer knew what Leah wanted.

It had once been simple. She had wanted him to love her. To put her on a pedestal and worship at her feet.

No, Bran winced at the bitter but erroneous thought. That had not been what she wanted. She wanted him to love her, yes. She had wanted him to think of her above others, first and foremost. She had wanted his tenderness and his care.

In maintaining his distance from her, it had been easy to never give her those things. Bran put his people first and if that meant Leah suffered, then so be it. To be tender with her would mean he would have to feel it and he could not do that.

He compromised – because there had to be a compromise – by giving her his respect. Few had it and she knew that. At times, it had seemed like enough.

As it turned out, Bran’s powers over his emotions were not insurmountable. He couldn’t even pretend that she had worn him down, for she hadn’t. Leah had, damn her, never _tried_ to make him love her. She had never made any attempt to mold herself into anyone other than herself. She couldn’t. She was too honest for that.

Once, he had thought her stupid. Now he knew he was the fool.

As his thoughts spun around in their gloomy directions, Bran could have done without the turbulence over the Atlantic. He was already in a terrible mood and being trapped in his seat whilst the plane was tossed around in the air was less than ideal. He didn’t enjoy flying, at least not when he wasn’t the pilot, and he occupied himself with thinking dark thoughts, from his estimated survival rate should the plane plummet out of the skies (better in water than on land, he decided) to imagining who from his packs Leah might leave him for.

By the time they landed, Bran had just about decided the most likely candidate was De Bouchard, the Alpha of the Calgary pack, whom she flirted with every time they met and with whom she had a history with that he had determinedly _not_ asked her about. Once in his hearing, De Bouchard had made a joke about taking Leah off his hands and everyone had laughed except Leah, who had looked briefly thoughtful.

On that basis alone, Bran had all but mentally walked her down the aisle. For that would be what he would have to do, he decided with horror, to make it clear to one and all that the relationship had his blessing. He would have to _walk her down the aisle_ and _hand her to another man_.

“Fucked if I’m doing that,” he furiously told the steering wheel of the truck he had left in long-term parking at the airport. No one was around to hear him break his own rule and use foul language.

Grumbling, Bran set off for home, imagined giving a speech at the reception of their wedding, holding a champagne glass whilst Leah and De Bouchard clasped hands. _When I first met Leah,_ he’d say, telling the story of catching her in the act of breaking in to her Alpha’s house wearing men’s clothes, her dark blonde hair stuffed unconvincingly into a cap. On retelling, he’d make it funny. Talk of how she’d set a distraction in the stables, then climbed up the back of the house through the window of the guest room she hadn’t known he was staying in. A comedy of errors, perhaps. Of how he’d helped her steal back her jewelry that her Alpha had taken from her when he’d Changed, his blackmail attempt to keep her in his pack. A young, unmarried woman with no money had no prospects in America in the 1820s.

He’d edit out the part where he’d seduced her, of course. Or she had seduced him – it had been hard to tell. They’d returned from her Alpha’s office, pockets full of diamonds, and hadn’t even made it to the bed. She snuck back into Bran’s room every night whilst he’d stayed with her pack and they’d shoved balled pairs of socks behind the bedstead so the headboard didn’t thump through the night. She hadn’t been the first woman he’d been with in the ten years since his mate had passed but she had been the first who’d made him temporarily forget.

When he’d left, Bran found himself thinking of her more than once, almost wistfully, and six months later he had returned and put the offer of the mating bargain before her. 

No, he wouldn’t tell that part. _Ladies and gentlemen, raise your glasses for Mr. and Mrs. De Bouchard._

Bran pulled up in front of their dark house and sat for a while, talking himself down from this extreme flight of fancy. He wasn’t prone to them. Normally.

A rapping on the window made him jerk. It was Asil, dressed in black and typically without overcoat. It was thirty degrees out.

“You’re back early,” Asil said mildly, breath fogging in the frosty air.

“Am I?”

His packmate’s dark eyebrows rose. “I see we are in a good mood.”

It really had come to something when _Asil_ was commenting on Bran’s mood, he thought. So thinking, Bran forced a smile. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” he asked, jumping out of the car and grabbing his bag.

“Just checking to see if the lady of the house had returned.”

Ah, Bran thought. That was right. He had asked Charles to keep her whereabouts to himself. “Wednesday,” he said, shortly.

“So you do know where she is.”

“Yes.”

White teeth flashed in the Moor’s tanned face. “What a relief. We were all so concerned.”

He could not have sounded less concerned. Bran ground his teeth. He had long been putting it off but he needed to deal with this issue between his mate and the man who was effectively the Third in their pack. It was becoming annoying and, to Bran’s mind, unnecessary. In any other time and place, he thought they would work well together. 

Asil followed him into the house. “And is your unprecedented early return related to Mrs. Cornick’s absence?”

 _Mrs. Cornick._ Bran grunted. _Mrs._ _De Bouchard._ “She’s just visiting a friend.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Bran deposited his bag at the base of the stairs and set about turning on the multitude of tiny lamps that Leah insisted they use rather than the overhead recessed spotlights. She claimed they made their large rooms look more intimate. She was, alas, completely correct and now they never turned on the spotlights. “What do you want from me, Asil?” he sighed.

“Me? Nothing. I was only passing by and saw your car. I thought you were returning on Thursday. I was curious.”

“I was able to wrap up the business faster than anticipated.”

“Satisfactorily?”

“Time will tell. Do you want to stay for dinner?”

“That would be delightful. Thank you.” Asil sounded pleased. Too pleased.

Bran stopped what he was doing to stare at the Moor, who had affected a lean of nonchalance against the back of an armchair. “Did Charles put you up to this?” he asked. The only person he had told he would be returning was his son.

“Charles?” the Moor said innocently. “I haven’t spoken to Charles.”

Bran knew how this game was played. “Anna, then,” he surmised. He waved a hand, not wanting to be bothered with more of Asil’s attempts to squirrel out of telling the truth. “Fine. Go and choose something from the freezer and I’ll reheat it. I must change.”

He stomped upstairs – yes, _stomped_ – and threw everything he was wearing in the general direction of the hamper in his bedroom. Then, in nothing but his boxers, he went into his wife’s room.

It had been he who had requested separate rooms when they built this preposterously large house. Bran had thought space between them would be wise. Perhaps he’d already half-realized back then that she was becoming more integral to his life. Perhaps there had been too much pillow-talk for his comfort. It wouldn’t surprise him. Apparently he was a master at self-denial.

Without hesitation, Bran rifled through her jewelry box first. If she had left him, he was almost certain she would have taken the contents, which included the jewelry she had been wearing when she was Changed around which he had woven his fantasy wedding speech, so he was relieved to see everything was still present and accounted for. He plucked out her wedding rings. She didn’t wear them every day. Most werewolves didn’t – the possibility of an unplanned Change putting anything valuable at risk. For a moment he held them in the palm of his hand, clenched tight so the trio of diamonds dug into his flesh, before he forced himself to replace them and close the lid of the box.

Next he went into her closet. A glance at the rows of clothes and shoes and bags told him first that nothing significant was missing except for the emergency bag with her other identity. Second, even her suitcases were all in place which meant she had taken very little with her indeed.

She was definitely coming back, Bran decided with relief. Before he went to get changed into something that didn’t smell of a long-haul plane, he pulled her pajamas out from under her pillow and stuffed them under his comforter so the bed would smell like her when he returned. He resolutely did not think about how sentimental this was. It wasn’t for _him_ , after all. It was for the monster.

The meal with Asil was fine once he stopped asking leading questions. The pack clearly knew something was going on with Bran and Leah, despite their relative discretion and Asil was trying to work out how serious it was. Neither of them confided in anyone about the intimate details of their marriage and if they argued they made sure to do so away from others.

But werewolves had many senses to sort through information. Unhappiness had its own taint.

Eventually, Bran yawned – the trip, the flight, possibly two millennia of living caught up with him – and Asil took this as his cue to leave. “If I might offer some advice?” he said, pausing at the door.

Bran braced himself.

“Call her. Tell her you’ve come home early for her.”

Bran bristled. At this unwanted advice and at the implication that Asil of all people might know what Leah would want. That it was good advice, too, and he hadn’t thought of it. “I haven’t— oh, go away.”

A half bow, a grin, and the Moor ducked out of his house.

*

Though he was tired enough to feel like his eyelids weighed a stone a-piece, Bran lit the fire in his office and sat facing it whilst he dialed her. The possibility that she wouldn’t pick up had occurred to him and he was braced for a repeat of yesterday – was it yesterday? – where he resorted to screaming across America for her.

“Hello,” she said, answering after three rings.

He slumped a little with relief. “Hello,” he sighed.

“Hmm. _You’re_ tired.”

“How can you tell?”

“You’re letting things slip through our bond,” was her surprising response.

Bran jerked backwards. “Really?” His mind scrabbled for the grip on their mating bond, an instinctive hold he didn’t really check on much these days. Everything seemed to be in place, in so much as there was a ‘place’.

“Mmm,” she said. He heard a crunch. She was eating something. “You’re sitting in front of your fire at home.”

“ _How_ …” He was baffled.

“It only happens when you’re very tired, Bran, don’t worry,” Leah reassured him, as if his confusion was a preface to anger rather than simple incomprehension. She crunched something again. A raw carrot, he thought.

“How long has it been happening?”

Leah made a thoughtful noise. “I don’t know. It took me a while to notice. Maybe sixty or seventy years?”

Bran considered this. “I get tired a great deal.”

“You do, that’s true.”

“What _slips_ through?” he asked suspiciously.

“It’s reasonably random. The occasional thought. Faces. Sensations. I know you saw Asil this evening. I know something burnt your tongue.”

“Lasagna,” Bran murmured. _Thoughts_. He wanted to ask her what she’d seen from him. Some of his thoughts were not particularly palatable.

“Now you’re worried. You needn’t be. The thoughts are never particularly coherent. Once it was about sandwiches.”

This conversation – _thank you, Asil –_ was turning out to be an absolute eye-opener. “Sandwiches.” He felt the laugh, distantly, as if someone else was amused. “How prosaic.”

“Turkey sandwiches, the day after Thanksgiving.”

“Oh, with the piece of gravy-soaked bread in the middle. They’re _good_.” Better than good. _Magnificent_. Truly the highlight of Thanksgiving for him, a dour time of year. Too close to the full moon ceremony, not close enough to a new year and a fresh start. _This_ year they had skipped Thanksgiving entirely. Bran hadn’t been in the mood, Sam and Ariana had stayed in Africa and Charles and Anna had gone to visit her father. There hadn’t seemed to be a reason to even pretend to hold the holiday. 

“Yes, that was pretty much your line of thinking.” She crunched again and sighed, as if she would rather be eating anything else.

“You’ve never told me this before.”

“I didn’t want you to take it away.”

Bran decided to lie down again. He felt old and tired, suddenly. The rug in front of his fire was a fluffy sheepskin. Sometimes he slept on it when he was in his wolf’s skin. It felt preposterously luxurious to lie down upon it now. He could easily fall asleep, listening to her voice. “I would probably have tried,” he admitted. Sixty or seventy years ago he would have been horrified at the thought of her being in his head.

“That suggests you won’t now?”

“No. You can have my tired sandwich thoughts,” he said.

Leah chuckled. “Thank you. So, you came back early.”

“I did. I— I didn’t want to be so far away.”

She hmmed again, making it sound disapproving. “You’ve been planning that trip for a couple of months, Bran, before Libor even called you.”

“I know. I did what I went to do, in a fashion. I decided it didn’t matter. I don’t care what he does with Europe.”

“Your tired sandwich thoughts tell me otherwise.”

Bran blew out an annoyed breath. “Fine. I don’t care _enough_.” He was annoyed with himself and he was annoyed with her for questioning him. “I thought you’d be glad I came back early,” he said, unthinkingly.

“Your job is more important than what I want,” she repeated, making it absolutely clear she was mimicking him.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Bran muttered, rubbing the palm of his hand against his eye. He then pressed it there, feeling a pulse beat under his skin.

“I _beg_ your pardon?” Leah was shocked. But _gleeful._ “Did you just swear in front of your wife, Bran Cornick?”

He released the pressure on his eyeball, throwing his hand to the side, hitting the flagstones surrounding his fireplace. His vision returned slowly, the black tunneling out as his eye readjusted to the light. “My wife is not here. She’s in _Syracuse_.”

“If you’re going to pick a fight with me, I will hang up.”

“Don’t do that,” he said quickly. “I apologize.”

She was silent. Here, in Aspen Creek, in their home, Bran listened to the crackle of his fire, felt the heat on one side of his face, and thought that his bed would be cold and he missed her. He missed her _fiercely_.

Leah crunched another carrot. “I’ll come home tomorrow, then,” she said.

“ _Thank you_.”

*

After a restless night’s sleep, in preparation for Leah’s return Bran spent his morning doing chores. He tipped out the contents of their hampers into the laundry room, sorted lights from darks, picked out her delicates – including a brassiere he didn’t think he’d ever seen before – and put them on to wash, one after another. Then he went through the refrigerator and tossed out everything that had expired. His plan was to go grocery shopping and make one of the handful of meals he knew how to and complete the cycle of what was transparently an attempt to suck-up when he was interrupted by a commotion at the door.

Curious, Bran opened it and was half tempted to close it again so he didn’t have to deal with what was happening on the other side. “What is it?” he asked, resigned.

The looks on Kara’s and Anthony’s faces only grew more contrite. Kara glanced at Anthony as if he, older and wiser by a whole two years, might be called upon to own up to whatever it was that they had done.

Anthony, indeed older and wiser but, more importantly, a mere human, stared at the ground, white-faced.

Bran dismissed him as useless. “Kara, tell me.”

“We— um. After Hester’s and Jonsey’s house burned down…”

 _Oh God,_ Bran thought.

“…I thought it might be nice if we planted something. You know. In memory.”

 _Oh God no,_ he thought again.

“Anthony thought it was a good idea, too.”

Anthony whimpered. As well he might. “What were you _thinking_ ,” Bran growled at both of them and though only one of them was technically part of his pack, they both flinched back. He tried to soften his expression, reminding himself that they were just children. “What has grown there.”

“I thought nothing at first. And then, well, it’s winter now so it’s not like things normally grow but now – whomph!” Kara said, throwing her arms out, eyes wide. “It’s massive.”

“What is.”

“The apple tree.”

“ _A fruit tree?_ ” Bran’s yell sent the few winter-hardy birds in their trees flying. “You planted a fruit tree on a _dead fae’s land?”_

Both Anthony and Kara took steps back this time, cowering.

Naturally, Leah’s taxi drew up at that moment, earlier than expected, and Bran was forced to clench his teeth and hold back further expletives because screaming at teenagers publicly was something that humans frowned upon. His mate climbed out, cast them all a deeply suspicious look, and then paid the driver. She approached the front porch, bag dangling from her fingers, eyes narrowed. “What’s going on?”

Bran pointed to her and glared at them. “Explain yourselves to my wife.” If anything, Anthony looked more frightened, as well he might. Parents in their town very much treated Leah as their personal bogey-man. _If you don’t behave, we’ll send for the Marrok’s wife_. “I am going to _get a chainsaw._ ”

He put boots on and furiously made his way to their garage where all the power tools were kept, neatly, on one wall. He heard Leah’s gratifyingly irate response to Kara’s quiet murmur and then sound of Anthony’s father’s truck starting up as he was sent to fetch reinforcements.

A very subdued and submissive Kara slunk in to the garage. “Leah said I’m to help you,” she whispered.

He nodded, too angry to look at her. “We’ll need a couple of tarps. Those axes. Those fuel cans. _I am angry because this stupidity is beneath you_ ,” he said.

“I didn’t know! I thought—” Kara’s bottom lip firmed stubbornly. “How was I supposed to know it was bad? _Other_ things are growing there. What’s wrong with planting something nice in memory? We planted an apple tree for my gran when she died.”

Bran gritted his teeth. She was young. And Anthony, George’s son, was for the most part kept out of werewolf business. He wasn’t to know any different and, what’s more, had a crush on Kara that meant he left his brain behind whenever they were together.

He couldn’t have expected either of them to follow the logic through. That whatever was growing there was naturally occurring which was _magically different_ from two stupid children planting a fruit tree in soil fed by the bones of a fae who had died of heartbreak.

Kara quietly helped him fill the trunk of his truck and then Leah came out of the house, now dressed in more practical clothes, her hiking boots on and zipped into a padded coat. “Go inside,” she told Kara coolly but put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Wait for us to return.”

The girl nodded, accepting her fate.

Without discussion, Leah climbed into the passenger seat of the truck. “Unbelievable,” she muttered, plugging in her seatbelt.

Bran was in absolute agreement. He slammed the door and started the engine.

*

Not unexpectedly, Leah and Bran were the first to arrive at the site, Bran crawling the truck as close to where the house had once been. They had a lot to carry and would probably need to make two trips. He had only visited once since the couple had died – a few weeks after he had returned to begin to make his amends to his wife – and he was not looking forward to this experience.

Silently, they started to unload the truck.

“Wait,” Bran said, as Leah picked up the jerry can of fuel from the trunk.

He took the can from her hand, put it down and cupped her face. “Hello,” he said formally, meeting her lake-blue eyes. “Welcome home.”

The faintest of smiles crossed Leah’s face. Her fingers clasped his wrists. “And what a welcome it was.”

He nodded and then because this was what he had _most_ wanted to do when he had imagined her returning home, he kissed her. Nicely. A polite little press of his lips and then as he was there and as she had particularly plush mouth, he gently nibbled on her lower lip. 

It was supposed to stop there. Bran had _planned_ to be gentlemanly and greet her like her husband of long-standing, not a horny teenager who just wanted to get into her pants, but she made an encouraging noise and he took a step forward, pressing her up against the tailgate. He slid his tongue into her welcoming mouth – she tasted like the apple-flavored hard candy she only sucked on a plane – and her hands went into his hair, tugging him close.

The truth was, of course, that Bran did indeed feel like a horny teenager and he _did_ want to get into her pants but that was because sex between them was easy, had always been easy. It had always been the part of their relationship that had worked for both of them. 

Leah was rubbing herself against his thigh and he had shoved her bra up, thumb and forefinger tweaking a nipple, by the time a truck drew up behind them. He froze, his mouth slanted over hers as he came back to his senses. He was briefly grateful for the padding of his overcoat that more or less shielded what they were doing, or how far it had gone, from whomever had pulled up behind them.

His wife, her mouth swollen and pink, clenched her thighs around his leg one last time. “Damn,” she said, a little pant in her voice.

“No kidding.” A small part of him was seriously considering sending them away – or dragging her down into the thicket. The state he was in, it wouldn’t last long. Carefully, he rearranged her bra, pulled her sweater down and then zipped up her coat. Her soft hands petted his hair, reordering it, the corner of her mouth turned up as if she was proud of his disarray.

Bran adjusted himself in his jeans with a wince. Unsympathetically, Leah stifled a snicker and then leaned to the side. “Tag,” she announced. She smiled. “He’s intently reading the back of what looks like a bottle of screen cleaner.”

“Good.” Tag – given he was the member of the pack who had been there since the beginning of their marriage – had likely seen them in more compromising positions than just enthusiastically necking against a car. He wouldn’t care and certainly wouldn’t comment.

So thinking Bran decided to put his arms around Leah, draw out the moment rather than pretend nothing had happened. She turned her face into the crook of his neck and her hands slid under his coat, fingers tucking in to the back of his waistband. In the distance, he could hear another truck coming. Charles, no doubt. He squeezed his wife tightly. “Please don’t leave me,” he said.

“You’re an idiot,” she told his neck.

*

The apple tree – which in Bran’s imaginings was the size of a well established oak but in reality was only four or five Spring’s tall – was still pretty resistant to being cut down, confirming Bran’s belief that whatever remains of Jonesy there was in this earth was fueling its unnatural robustness and growth.

The winter apples, glowing softly in the twilight, were also testament to this.

“Incinerate them, you think?” Tag pondered.

“Is it weird that I kind of want to try one? Just to see what happens?” Anna asked, her pixie-ish face puckered with curiosity.

The werewolves around her gave her identical bemused looks which they then exchanged with each other. “Yes,” Charles said sternly. “Very weird.”

Anna rolled her eyes and nudged him. “I wasn’t going to, Charles. It’s like when you stand on the top of a cliff face and look down. And wonder what would happen if you just… jumped.”

Charles looked poleaxed. “Again, _what?”_

“No, I get that,” Leah said, nodding. “I’ve done that. Works on tall buildings too. And bridges.”

It was Bran’s turn to look at his wife. “This isn’t some peculiar way to announce that you’re having suicidal thoughts, is it?”

She shrugged and carefully removed an unnaturally vibrant green leaf that had woven itself into her ponytail. “No, I just think it’s a thing.”

“It’s definitely a thing,” Anna agreed.

‘A thing’. This was a way of speaking that Kara had introduced into their pack. Bran, who believed there were enough words in the English language – and others – that meant meanings could be expressed without vagaries, did not approve.

“Anyway. We should incinerate them,” Leah decided, nudging the apples in the feed bucket that Tag had brought with him with the toe of her boot. “Mix the remains with concrete. I don’t think we should spread the ashes here.”

Bran agreed with his mate’s practical decision. They made several trips to and from the site, carrying buckets and bags of apples and wood. Bran listened with one ear to Anna’s questions about any creatures who might have snacked on the apples and the resulting effects. “What are we talking about here? Three-headed birds? Squirrels the size of Hulk?”

“Hulk?” Leah whispered to him, apparently also listening. They were carrying one of the bigger tubs between them, an awkward shape and size for one person. It wasn’t much less awkward between two.

“Comic book character. Giant. Green.”

They paused to navigate a fallen log. “Not the guy with the sweetcorn,” she clarified.

He grinned. “No, not the Jolly Green Giant.”

They loaded up Tag’s truck as he had volunteered for incinerator duty.

“Wear a mask,” Bran suggested as he slammed the tailgate closed. Then he thought about it, watching the slightly phosphorus fruit with distrust. “Maybe I should come with you.”

“Oh, no, we’ll stay with Tag,” came the voice of his daughter-in-law. “We’ll swing by ours first. We’ve a pie that needs eating. Don’t we, Charles?”

Charles briefly looked like he had no idea what she was talking about and then his face smoothed over, became utterly blank. “Can’t say no to pie,” was his vague response.

Something funny about that, Bran thought, then dismissed it. What did he care what they got up to? Pie or not. “All right. Call me later,” he said.

“ _Sic gorgiamus allos subjectatos nunc_ ,” Anna said somberly.

Bran held open the door of his truck, working his way through Anna’s almost impenetrable Latin accent before coming to the translation. “We gladly feast on those who would subdue us?”

She blinked her big brown eyes at him. “The motto of the Addams family.”

He laughed – she would never cease to surprise him – and climbed into his truck and, still chuckling, turned on the engine. He turned to watch as Charles, then Tag, began reversing down the track.

“Who the heck is the Addams family?” Leah wanted to know, unzipping her coat.

Bran laughed again. “I’ll show you when we get home. I think you’ll like the movies.” She would, he suspected, entirely relate to Wednesday Addams.

Leah accepted this. She started to fiddle with the radio in a vain attempt to get a radio station. “What shall we do with Kara?”

He had forgotten they had left their resident werewolf teenager at home. “What do you think?” Leah usually had a better grip on Kara, the only child of their long acquaintance for whom she had given more than two hoots about.

“I think she will have been stewing for several hours, growing more and more concerned, and that might be punishment enough. But I also think some remedial fae classes might be in order.”

Bran nodded and began reversing down the track, his arm resting on the back of his seat. The first turning point wasn’t for a mile and whilst he knew his territory like the back of his land, it did have a tendency to change with the seasons so he had to concentrate.

“Ah-hah,” Leah said, triumphantly, as she found a station. She settled back into her seat with a pleased smile.

*

Leah was correct. Kara was in a state when they returned and after Bran delivered his patented stern glare she was allowed to stay for the movie. Bran had called it correctly - Leah _loved_ Wednesday and snorted with laughter at every dead-pan delivery.

Kara had seen the movie before but was happy to lie on one of their couches, under a blanket, much as she had done when she had first come to live with them. When the movie finished it was clear from her breathing that she was fast asleep.

“Can you put her upstairs?” Leah said softly, casting Kara a fond look. “I’ll call to let Elsa and Graham know she’s staying the night.”

Bran nodded and carried Kara up to the guest room they kept ready for any spur of the moment family guests. There were a couple of other empty rooms in their wing of the house but Leah tended to put other guests in the downstairs suites. She didn’t like strangers near to where she slept, particularly as he was away so often.

She didn’t really like people staying in the house at all overnight, he mused, as he slid Kara onto the bed and pulled the comforter over her. She immediately rolled over onto her front.

“Night,” he told her, smiling. He left the door slightly ajar and then went to find Leah in the kitchen, looking through their crisper.

“I was going to go to the grocery store,” he said as she held up an unhappy looking bunch of salad onions that he had missed.

“I think we have some frozen peas in the freezer in the garage. Do you think if we cook something she’ll wake up?”

“Probably.” Bran felt himself slipping into their normal pattern of superficial domestic talk, the kind that covered up any cracks. He didn’t want that. “How was Melissa?” he asked.

She closed the refrigerator. “Sad.”

This was not edifying. He waited, patiently.

Leah got out two pies, obviously planning in case they had to cater for a bottomless pit of a teenager, and set to pre-heating the oven. “Charles told her that dissolving the mating bond is painful.”

He swallowed. “It is.”

“I presume this is based on your observation.”

“No. It’s effectively the same as when a mate dies.”

This made her mentally stumble. She looked at him and briefly he saw her sorrow. She covered it quickly. “I didn’t know that.”

Bran tilted his head, just a little in acknowledgement. Leah had never been interested in the details before. That she was now did not fill him with deep joy. “That’s the principle of it. You trick the wolf, and the bond, into thinking the mate has died,” he explained.

Leah pulled a face. “I see why you don’t want to do it.”

He nodded. He would not wish the pain of losing a mate on anyone. Charles, on the other hand, thought that being mated to someone whom you didn’t want to be with any longer to be a different kind of pain.

Leah put two and two together. “So if we did something like that—”

Bran was already shaking his head. “We couldn’t.” He would destroy the world over her loss. He knew this in his bones.

“Huh.” She put the pies in and began to slice the salad onions. “Could you get the peas from the garage, please?”

Feeling as if he was walking through taffy, Bran did so. Leah poured them into a saucepan, along with the salad onions and a knob of butter, salt and pepper. She had poured herself a glass of white wine and added a splash of the liquid to the pan. “Want one?” she asked, shaking the bottle at him.

At this point, Bran was considering shots of vodka but he supposed wine would be nice, too. “Please.”

She handed him a glass. “So what would we do? If we didn’t want to be together any more.”

Bran took a sip of his wine, attempted to appear civilized and like he didn’t want to tear off his skin. “We’d have to separate. Do it the long way.”

“The long way being…? Oh,” she said, leaning casually against the counter, for all the world as if they were still discussing vegetables. “You mean it would dissolve on its own.”

He nodded. He was being so helpful. He was almost proud. “It would be hastened if you met someone else,” Bran added, really ripping the Band-Aid off and, it felt like, taking several layers of skin with it.

His wife’s eyes widened fractionally. “Really,” she drawled.

Oh, God, he was going to have to walk her down the aisle, wasn’t he? He took a bigger sip of his wine and then put the glass down, afraid he would snap the stem. “I’d really rather you didn’t,” he muttered.

“No, of course not, Bran. This is purely a hypothetical conversation.”

If he didn’t pay attention properly, Leah could lie to him. She was capable because she wasn’t frightened of him and thus had very little of the physical reactions to telling him an untruth. The fact that she didn’t was purely a character trait rather than anything else. “Oh, so you’re not planning it, then? That isn’t why you went to visit with Melissa?”

“She called me, very upset, on Thursday. I offered to fly out. I had absolutely _no_ plan to do so previously. I hadn’t known she had taken that last step to separate from him.” Leah put down her own glass, which clinked on their stainless steel countertops. She stepped closer to him and put her hands on either side of his face, mirroring their pose from earlier in the day. Her eyes searched his. “I can feel you freaking out. You _don’t_ freak out.”

“I freak out plenty.”

“Well you usually hide it better than this. Can’t you tell I’m telling you the truth?”

Bran sucked on his tongue thoughtfully. She was probably right. “I’m freaking out too much,” he surmised.

“You really are. What, you thought I flew to Melissa to get tips?”

He nodded, slowly.

“Why would I think her relationship with Kwame is remotely comparable to ours?” she wondered aloud.

“You’re unhappy.”

Leah didn’t say anything to that. She stroked a hand across his face tentatively, her long fingers smoothing over his forehead, across his hairline and down past his ear. She rubbed the ends of his hair between her fingers. “The problem is I thought I wanted something. You,” she added, in case she wasn’t being clear. “For so long. That when it appeared that I now _had_ it, it made me wonder— what do I do with that? What, who, am I now? Do you see?”

Bran frowned. “Not really.”

She blew out a frustrated breath. “For so long it’s been part of me, this feeling that I don’t have you in all the ways that I felt I needed. I don’t know how to— it’s not comparable but what do you want most in the world, Bran? Unrelated to us.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “My family to be happy and healthy?”

Leah scoffed. “Don’t be sentimental. _That’s_ not what you want. You want werewolves to be safe. Protected.” She looked up briefly, as if in thought. “More prolific than we are.”

“Yes, I do want that.”

“And if tomorrow, you had that? What would you do with yourself?”

He smirked. “Probably take a long vacation.”

“And after that?” Leah nudged his hips with hers and he took the opportunity to shape his hands over her butt. “After this long vacation?”

Bran’s brain went blank. What would he do? he wondered. Their people had been his life’s work. The first and last thought of his day. “Maybe teach,” he decided, eventually.

“Exactly. Something different. A new direction. That’s what it feels like for me.”

He was getting it. A little. “So you’re not unhappy… with us?”

Leah kissed him, winding her arms around his neck and standing on her tiptoes. She pulled back and her smile was quietly satisfied. “No. I mean – it’s very peculiar, no question about it. This side of you is pretty intense. A werewolf husband for real. It’s going to take a while to get used to it.”

‘Intense’. Oh, she really had no idea. “You’re… recalibrating?” Bran suggested, picturing a world where his werewolves were truly free and the burden of their care no longer rested on his shoulders. He would certainly need to recalibrate after that.

Her face lit up. “Oh, yes, that’s it. Very good.” He got another kiss for this.

Bran leaned backwards so her feet left the ground. “How long do the pies need?” he asked against her mouth, unashamedly groping her.

She laughed. “Another twenty minutes.”

He started backing her towards the door. The rug on the floor of his office was _singing_ their names.

Another door slammed upstairs, however, disrupting his plans once again. “Oh, for the love of Pete,” Bran muttered as the footsteps of their teenage guest made their way across the upstairs hall and down the stairs.

“The pie was a mistake,” Leah mused. She rested her head on his shoulder and sighed. “Put me down.”

He did so, reluctantly. It truly felt like his people were thwarting him. “Twice in one day. Record.”

“Hardly. We used to live with Charles.”

She had a point. 

Sighing again, Leah flicked on the gas to heat up the peas and then turned on him, her face alight with interest. “Oh, by the way, why on _earth_ do you keep thinking about De Bouchard?”

 _Oh boy._ Bran went to pour himself more wine.

END.


End file.
